Chapter 11: Secret Rooms

Grindelverse

"Mr Potter, Mr Black," said a young woman Hermione didn't recognize (Hogwarts was noticeably lacking Hagrid, who had probably actually been expelled in this universe, and Filch, who was a Squib), "the Headmistress will see you now."

It had been easy enough to simply walk into Hogwarts, even with a tenuously behaving werewolf and a handful of school-aged teenagers who probably shouldn't have been freely roaming around. Clearly, extravagant wealth was what Hermione had been missing during her horcrux hunt with Harry and Ron. The promise of money was far more compelling than the fact that they didn't belong, and the extenuating circumstances of their presence was easily overlooked in favor of a hefty donation.

"Headmistress?" Sirius echoed, brightening. "Well, that's progressive of them," he remarked, sparing a salacious adjustment to the buttons of his shirt before rising to his feet.

"Don't," James warned at a murmur, backhanding Sirius briefly in the abdomen as he moved to join him, and Hermione grimaced her agreement. "This is not the time to draw attention to yourself, Sirius. We're just trying to get in, keep her distracted, and get out."

"Oh, relax, Jamesy-boy," Sirius told him airily, letting the female staff member lead them towards the Headmistress' Office gargoyle. "Wasn't the entire purpose of our coming here to keep the mistress of the house occupied whilst the children irresponsibly hunt for treasure?"

"Still," James muttered as they walked, "I somehow doubt Headmistress McGonagall is interested in seeing the inside of your bedchambers—"

"McGonagall?" Hermione echoed, alarmed, just as Remus tapped her pointedly on the shoulder.

"Are you planning on going or not?" he prompted impatiently, tapping his wrist where another man might have worn a watch. He, however, merely tapped the face of what looked to be a tattooed gauntlet, having been something of a paranoid grump all morning when he wasn't audaciously hitting on James. "Is the pendant open?"

The moment James and Sirius disappeared into the office, Hermione dug hastily into her pocket, pulling it out. "No," she realized, frowning, and turned questioningly to Draco, who shrugged.

"Maybe you're supposed to be wearing it," Draco suggested, holding out a hand for it. "Here," he offered, as she let it slide from her palm to his, his waiting fingers curling up to brush against hers as he gave her a furtive smile. "Allow me," he murmured, and reached gently across her shoulders, clasping it around her neck until it settled delicately against her chest.

"There," he determined, brushing his fingers over it. He looked up, grey gaze finding Hermione's as she held her breath, grateful only she (and perhaps Draco) could feel the way her heart was pounding beneath his touch.

Another night together had, as she'd anticipated, done a touch more harm than good in terms of finding her footing in this world. It wasn't as if she hadn't been objectively curious about Draco Malfoy before, but somewhere between his small-minded dismissal of everything she loved and his outrageous showboating for the benefit of his insipid gang of followers, she'd never had much interest in letting her imagination get the better of her. Now, though (with a version of him who looked so intensely at her) it was something of an impossibility to ignore.

"Yes, marvelous, that's all well and good," Theo commented loudly, snorting his disapproval (or more likely, his boredom) as Harry rolled his eyes, "but it still hasn't—"

Abruptly, the pendant cracked, a line sprouting along the mirrored edge and then splitting apart, a flower blooming from a bud to reveal a revolving compass that whirred once, spun the opposite direction, and then jerked to a halt abruptly, pointing somewhere behind them.

"—opened," Theo finished dully, as Harry promptly reached forward, taking hold of the pendant with approximately none of Draco's attentive care.

"That way," Harry pronounced briskly, glancing over his shoulder, "and…" He frowned. "Up? Upstairs, maybe? Where are we now?"

"Third floor," Hermione said, a bit thankful it wasn't suggesting they go down. She'd been more than a little concerned Tom wanted them to somehow procure the basilisk. "Alright, well, while James and Sirius are—"

"Excuse me," came a voice. "Were you the ones wanting a tour?"

Hermione looked up, eyes widening as she registered the familiar voice.

"Ron," she exhaled, and he glanced down at her, frowning.

"Yes?" he asked, looking puzzled. "Do I know you?"

Ron, for the first time that Hermione had ever seen him, looked positively immaculate. No smudge of dirt on his nose, no wrinkled shirt; no dark circles from being up all night discussing whatever he and Harry discussed instead of sleeping a manageable eight hours for maximum achievable mental performance, like she did. This Ron looked clean and forcefully pressed, and although she could still see signs of ill-fitted clothing (and noted immediately the book tucked under his arm was secondhand), she also found her attention drawn to the shiny Head Boy badge pinned to his chest.

"No, sorry," Hermione offered quickly. "I just, um." She bit her lip. "I thought you were someone else."

"One of my brothers, I assume," Ron said with a wry grin, glancing from her to the others as she gave a hesitant nod in confirmation, trying very hard not to stare. "I was told there were a group of prospective donors wanting a tour of the castle," he explained, as behind her, Hermione was sure Draco, Harry, and Theo were exchanging equally doubtful looks of disdain. "I suppose you'll be curious to see what you're investing in?"

"No, thank you," Remus said firmly.

"Oh," Ron said, frowning. "Well, I can't imagine you all just want to sit here, do you?"

"We'll take the tour," Hermione said quickly, rising to her feet. "Just one moment, please—distract him," she whispered, rounding on Harry and Theo as she turned away from a bemused Ron. "You two keep him busy and Draco and I—"

"And me," Remus cut in, arching a brow.

"—fine, you too, whatever—we'll follow the compass," Hermione said, pointedly tucking it under her blouse as Ron peered into their circle, frowning. "Quicker that way. Okay? Just, um. Talk about chess," she suggested, "or quidditch. And whatever you do, do not talk about his brothers, he has five of them and they're all different versions of unbearable—"

Harry flashed a glare at Draco. "You'd better be quick about this."

"Well, I'd say I promise, but I hate to rush a climax," Draco replied smoothly, as Harry made a face.

"Ugh, don't. Come on," he muttered to Theo, who strode forward with Harry in a show of perfectly smug synchronicity, the two of them joining Ron on either side. "So, Ron, was it?"

"Yes, Ron, tell us more about your deficiencies in comparison to your siblings," Theo suggested idly, as Ron blanched, alarmed, and Hermione stifled a groan. "Is your father the root of it all, do you think? Or is this perhaps some kind of delightful Oedipal situation wherein an oracle or your mother is at fault—"

"My relationship with my father is fine," Ron rushed out, glancing apprehensively between them.

"Trust me," Harry said drily, "in my experience, it probably isn't."

Ron hesitated. "Well, he is rather distracted from time to time," he lamented, just as Remus took hold of Hermione's shoulder, dragging her away.

"Come on," Remus growled as Harry and Theo began leading Ron around the corner. "It's not as if we have time to waste—"

"Fine," Hermione sighed impatiently, tearing her gaze from Ron's back to glance down at where the compass was whirring spiritedly, pointing her up the stairs. "I suppose it's that way, then."


Potterverse

"What was that?" Hermione asked, barreling with Harry and Ron down the stairs in time to watch Draco struggle to straighten, a shooting pain dragging from his Mark to something that manifested as a sharp pin-prick in his head.

"He's here," Harry said grimly, which was a statement so obvious Draco half-wanted to stab him for it, or would have, if not for the pain of whatever the Dark Lord had so artfully applied for the benefit of crippling him. If Draco had any misgivings about trying to kill Lord Voldemort before, they were certainly impossible to dismiss now; this was a wizard who could inflict pain from a distance. How close would he have to get to be killed, even with an unbeatable wand, and more importantly, what would happen to Draco before he managed to get there?

"What," Draco seethed in Harry's direction, "is your plan—"

"Well, mostly it begins and ends with facing him," Harry said, as Ron turned to him, questioning.

"Now?" Ron asked, disbelieving. "But we should be trying to get out, Harry!"

"No," Harry said flatly, and had Draco not heard everything Harry intended beforehand, he was fairly certain he would have flashed something identical to Ron's disbelieving glare himself. "We're not running. Not this time. We're not giving him another chance to turn the castle into his own personal prison."

"We'll have to fight him," Hermione agreed, which silenced Ron for a moment, but only temporarily.

"But then how are we going to—"

"There's five of us," Theo pointed out, "but he only really wants two. If we split up Potter and Draco, we give him two separate things to chase, don't we?"

"We could trap him," Hermione realized. "Use one of you as a decoy," she clarified, as Theo nodded his agreement, instantly approving. "But which one of you does he want more?"

"Harry," Ron said instantly, just as Harry said, "Malfoy."

"What?" Ron demanded, rounding on Harry. "But why would he—"

"Malfoy has something You Know Who wants," Harry said simply, as Theo glanced questioningly at Draco, obviously registering less the significance of the Elder Wand and more the indication that Harry had been informed about it. "He wants it more than he wants me, at least for the moment. I'm sure he plans to kill Malfoy first and then come after me."

"Perfect," Theo ruled.

"That can't possibly be the word you meant," Draco seethed, tilting his head with gritted teeth to glare up at Theo, who shrugged.

"Potter's the decoy," Theo determined. "It'll give you a chance to set a trap for him, and then Potter can lead him to wherever you'll be."

"Which is where, exact-" Draco broke off, freezing temporarily. "The room," he realized, and glanced up as Hermione's brow (and Theo's) furrowed with confusion. "The room, on the seventh floor, the one that becomes whatever you want it to be—"

"Yes, that," Harry approved quickly. "The Room of Requirement, perfect, he'll think he's the only one who knows how to work it—"

"But how are you going to get there?" Ron demanded. "You don't actually think you can outrun him long enough to wander in front of it and wish it to appear? He could kill you, Harry, while you stand there waiting—"

"I'll go with you," Theo cut in, turning to Harry, who blinked. "He won't be expecting me. It makes sense."

"You? You're practically suicidal," Ron said.

"So is he," Theo replied without hesitation, exchanging a challenging glance with Harry, and to Draco's dismay, after a moment of pause they'd both permitted twin sets of worrisome smiles to flit across their mouths, leading him to force himself upright.

"You both," Draco growled, "are going to get yourselves killed."

"Then we die like men," Theo replied spiritedly, and withered as Hermione raised a brow. "Or, you know. Women. But either way," he pressed, "it makes more sense for me to go with Potter. He won't be expecting it, and then you three can get to wherever you're going in time to make sure he doesn't get out. Better to lose me than any members of the golden brain trust," he joked, and to that, Draco's pain was no longer localized to his Mark.

"Theo," he said under his breath, "I need you. You already made me promise—"

"Relax, Malfoy, I'm not going anywhere," Theo said, lifting his chin as he straightened, nodding at Harry. "Have to keep this idiot alive, don't I? Just make sure you kill him," he added to Draco, "because contrary to popular belief, I don't actually have any great desire to inflict significant damage to my pretty face."

"Pretty?" Harry echoed, and Theo's gaze slid to his.

"Are you saying I'm not?" he prompted.

"Wouldn't dare," Harry replied, blithely half-smiling, as Draco doubled over with another loud slew of expletives, pain searing through his head. "Alright, alright," Harry offered hastily, "let's go, then—"

"Wait," Hermione said, taking hold of Harry's hand to pause him and then glancing at Theo, eyes wide. "Just—be careful," she said, suddenly throwing her arms around them both, leaving them to look at her (and then each other) with surprise. "Don't you dare get yourselves killed," she threatened tearily, "or I'll murder you both with my bare hands."

"Er, likewise," Harry said fondly, patting her on the back, but it was clear his mind was elsewhere; by then, adrenaline or idiocy had already kicked in. "Alright, you just get to the seventh floor," he said to Ron and Draco, who were (for presumably different reasons) incapable of speaking. "We'll find him and bring him there."

"How?" Ron demanded.

"Probably just whatever combination of luck and cheap shots presents itself," Theo said, heading for the corridor with Harry as Hermione grabbed at Draco's arm, pulling him along.

"Alright, hands in, on three—'Don't die,'" Theo suggested, and Ron groaned. "What, no one? Fine. See you on the other side, then," he said with a wink, following an already half-sprinting Harry.

"I'M COMING FOR YOU, TOM!" Harry bellowed, as Hermione and Ron looked at Draco, both of them vaguely colorless and expectant.

"Now what?" Hermione asked. She still hadn't released him; if Ron noticed, he wasn't saying so, and Draco found he was supremely grateful. He wasn't sure he was capable of motion without her steady hand around his pulse.

"DRACO MALFOY, YOU CAN'T HIDE FOREVER—"

"Now? We run," Draco said, and took off in the opposite direction from Harry and Theo, hurrying for the stairs.


Grindelverse

"You know him," Draco mused in her ear, his voice something like a playful tap on her shoulder as she stared down at the compass, nearly tripping over the stairs in the midst of their highly unwelcome conversation. "Ron. You're involved with him in your universe, aren't you?"

"I'm not," she muttered, nudging Remus as he nearly stepped into her path. "It's this way—"

"Well," Draco continued, "you're not a very good liar, you know. And listen, I'm not upset," he added, which certainly sounded true enough. "I knew perfectly well I stole you," he clarified as she paused, his fingers brushing the small of her back, "I just didn't know to what degree."

She paused to glare at him, and he smiled broadly.

"I know a valuable thing when I see one," he remarked, shrugging.

"Well, as a reminder, silence is golden," Remus cut in, growling his irritation and giving Hermione's shoulder a shove as she sighed, conceding to follow him up the stairs to the seventh floor.

The staircase shifted beneath their feet the moment they stepped onto it. Remus, alarmed, clung to one of the banisters, leaning unsteadily over the edge; Draco, by contrast, let out a weary sigh.

"This is what happens when you let a castle's enchantments do as they wish without discipline," Draco commented, plucking at some invisible lint near his shoulder. "Recalcitrant sentience can be so tiresome."

"You're unbelievable," Hermione told him, shaking her head as she glanced back down, watching the compass change as they moved.

"Mm," said Draco, his laughing gaze cutting to hers, "so you've already implied, if I remember correctly."

"Gross," Remus said, still half-hanging over the banister with something resembling seasickness, and as the arrow on the compass began to steady itself, Hermione realized precisely where they were going.

"Oh no," she exhaled, finding it paralyzingly obvious now as the arrow angled itself towards the blank wall concealing the Room of Requirement. "I should have known, honestly, it's just so obvious, and I never thought—"

She broke off as the compass around her neck began to glow, lifting slightly to hover out in front of her. After a moment, a floating silhouette of something bloomed out from the face of it, taking the shape of a glowing tiara.

No, she thought with an internal sigh, not a tiara.

"A diadem?" Remus asked, stepping gladly onto the landing and then squinting at the charmed image. "Well, he certainly likes pretty things, but I never really saw Tom as the diadem type, personally."

"It's Ravenclaw's diadem," Hermione said, grimacing. "It's supposed to bring wisdom to the wearer—" though that's not why he wants it, she realized with a sinking sensation, as Draco leaned towards her, catching the look of apprehension on her face.

"What's wrong?" he murmured, and she sighed, rubbing her temple.

"Nothing," she said. Nothing except that Tom Riddle almost certainly had horcruxes here, too, and therefore every single one of them was in far more trouble than they realized.

"You're a terrible liar," Draco reminded her, as below them, noise began to erupt from the castle; classes were ending, she knew, and students were about to swarm the corridors.

"Just—come on," she growled impatiently, and pulled him towards the wall. "Stand there," she instructed, beginning to walk in front of the room while concentrating on the diadem floating above the locket. "And be patient," she added to Remus, who had folded his arms over his chest in the very portrait of sullen detest for waiting, lips pursed. "It'll take a minute."

"Fine," Remus said, inspecting his claws. "You can have one minute. But if this wall continues to be a wall—"

Abruptly, a door sprouted into being.

"I said if," Remus conceded, and Hermione rolled her eyes, pulling the door open and yanking them both inside.

"Stop complaining and pay attention, both of you," she warned, glaring at them both before turning around, preparing herself to face the room. "So listen, what we're looking for is a—"

But instead she broke off, stunned.

"Hey," a voice said, "how did you get th-"

He stopped.

She stopped.

"Oh, shit," whispered Draco Malfoy.


Potterverse

For once, the castle seemed to understand Draco's urgency in a way it resolutely had not for the past seven years. The staircases were even helpful for once, leading them directly to the seventh floor, and while Draco was more than a little concerned Peeves the Poltergeist was going to pick a particularly bad time to show up, he was both relieved and a little suspicious when the only disruptions on their way to the room of hidden things were primal shouts from Harry followed by what could only have been yet another set of blasting spells.

"I need the room with all the stuff," Draco muttered, pacing in front of the wall as Hermione watched with confusion, glancing at Ron to confirm that he, at least, seemed to understand what was happening. "I need the room with—with the cabinet, and the—"

Nothing.

He stared at the wall of apathetic stone, disbelieving, as another crash came from somewhere down below, reminding him just how little time he really had.

"I don't… I don't understand what's happening," he said, swallowing hard as he placed a hand against the wall, wanting feverishly to collapse against it. "It—it usually opens, it always did last year—"

Abruptly, Ron let out a small noise of recognition. "Unless someone else is inside it."

"What?" Draco asked, as Ron looked to Hermione for approval, and she gave him a practiced (and utterly meaningless) nod. "Who would be inside it?"

"Did anyone go missing this year?" Ron prompted, nudging Draco aside and beginning his own series of pacing in front of the wall as he glanced up, waiting for Draco to answer. "I know you generally exist with your head up your own arse, Malfoy, but think—"

"Longbottom," Draco said, blinking as he realized. "Finnegan. Some—some first years, I think, I'm not sure—"

"I need to get into the room," Ron said, half to himself and half to the castle itself. "I'm not going to hurt anyone, they'll be safe, but I need to see where Neville is hiding, and Seamus—"

On the third round of pacing, the door appeared.

"Wait here," Ron commanded wildly, shoving a hand through his hair and hurriedly stepping into the room.

The moment he was gone, Hermione finally permitted her confusion to display itself on her face. "What the—"

"The room only appears to people who know exactly what they're looking for," Draco said to her, and gradually exhaled a strangled sigh of relief. "I can't believe I'm saying this, but thank god for Weasley, I would never have thought about it. I forgot they all used to use this room—"

"They?" Hermione echoed doubtfully.

"They, yes. You. Potter's little posse of ill-fated rebels and chaotic do-gooders," Draco grumbled under his breath, before catching Hermione's arched brow. "Yes, yes, I see the irony—"

"YOU CANNOT HIDE FOREVER—"

Every few minutes, more of the same, and still he couldn't help but flinch. Hermione caught the motion, stepping forward to catch his fingers in her hand.

"Are you afraid?" she asked him, glancing up to fix him with her too-wide eyes. "You're going to be okay, you know. You have that wand, first of all, and really, he's not so terrifying. He's just a man, isn't he? A bad one. The bad guys always die," she assured him, tightening her grip on his fingers as he winced. "They always lose, Draco, I promise—"

"You don't understand," he cut in, swallowing as he dragged a hand to the pain behind his temple. "I'm a bad guy. I've done terrible things, and who's to say," he began, and faltered, suddenly both pained and miserable. "If that's true," he attempted again, "then who's to say I won't be the one to lose? Or that I even deserve to win? If I can't do this, if I can't—" A ragged breath. "Then you, you should at least—you and Potter and Weasley, and Theo, too, you should all just—"

He fidgeted beneath her touch and she placed another hand delicately atop his, not quite looking at him.

"You have me, you know," she said, and then let her gaze flutter upwards, finding his. "I wouldn't be standing here if I didn't think you were capable. Or deserving."

"You don't actually know me," he reminded her warily, and she shook her head.

"I don't know your history," she corrected him, "but I know you. I know you," she said again, pressing her hand to his chest this time, "and you can do this, Draco. I promise, I'll be here. I'll be right here."

It was comforting, he thought. Too comforting, to the point of being tempting, because she couldn't stay, could she? It couldn't last—but the last time he was told to kill a man, he'd been alone. He'd cried to a ghost, for fuck's sake, and now, for whatever reason, there was someone standing beside him, holding him, promising him he was worthy, and there was something—something aching in him, something clumsily taking flight, and maybe it wasn't bravery, but maybe it was… maybe it was something just enough. Just enough to make him step forward, to take her in his arms, to promise her with the pressure of his touch he would stand firm in a way he hadn't before. That he would stand for her, for him, for them, and he wouldn't flinch; he pulled her close to him and swore on a breath that no, he hadn't been good enough until that moment, but with each passing pulse he would be, he would be, he would be—

"He wants you dead," Draco realized hoarsely, "and everyone like you."

She reached out; brushed her fingertips across his lips. "And what do you say to that, Draco Malfoy?" she whispered, as he gathered the tiny reserves of his strength from her touch.

"I say he'll have to go through me," he said, and she smiled beatifically, and she rose up on her toes and he slid his arms around her ribs, euphoric and brave, brave, brave and god, wasn't she flawless, wasn't she the only fucking valor in his veins, and wasn't she every motherfucking good thing he'd ever held between his two worthless hands, and—

"Done," Ron declared, re-emerging from the door as Draco and Hermione jumped apart. "Try again," he suggested to Draco, eyes bright with triumph as he rushed into the corridor. "Just got them all safely into Hogsmeade. The room is empty now."

"Oh, Ron, well done," Hermione said breathlessly, cheeks still flushed, and Ron preened a little at her praise as Draco forced himself to focus, reminding himself Harry and Theo would be headed their way any moment.

"The room with the cabinet," he said under his breath, "the room with the vanishing cabinet, with all the hidden things—"

The door appeared, and with relief, Draco flung it open, pulling Ron and Hermione inside after him. "Okay, you two hide somewhere," he told them, pointing arbitrarily as they glanced around, taking in the landscape of the room's mountainous piles of shitty treasures. "Go, uh… I don't know. You go that way," he told Ron, pointing left, "and Granger, you go right."

She nodded, giving his arm a brief, firm squeeze before following his instructions, and he spun, peering through the room; trying to see it as a battlefield rather than the hoarder's death trap it probably was. "We just have to be concealed from the door," he said, "but then after that, I assume it'll be an unrepentant mess, so—"

He turned back to face Hermione, who for whatever reason was back where she'd been, only now staring at him with surprise. "Hey," he said, frowning. "How did you get th-"

He broke off, realizing.

"Oh, shit," he said, his entire mental fortitude crashing to a halt.

"That sounds about right," remarked Hermione Granger—only not at all the one he'd been expecting to find.


Grindelverse

"What are you doing here?" they asked in unison, and then glanced over their respective shoulders.

"I came in here with… with you," the Draco from her universe said with confusion, "and with Weasley—"

"I'm here with you," Hermione said, "and—well," she amended, grimacing at the thought of explaining Remus. "It's kind of a long story."

"I don't see anyone else," Draco said tentatively, and she shook her head.

"Neither do I," she admitted, taking a cautious step forward. "Can we—is this like a mirror?" she asked, reaching a hand out, "or are you really—are we actually—"

His fingers twitched at his side, hesitant, and then he reached out, matching her motions.

They both let out reflexive exhalations of recognition mixed with tenuous dismay as their fingers touched some invisible plane of glass; the air warped between them to prove they were not, in fact, in the same room, even if perhaps they were.

"What are you doing in this room?" Hermione asked, just as he said, "Are you okay?"

She grimaced. "I'm fine. I'm—" She hesitated. "Well, I'm mostly fine."

"I didn't know it wasn't you, Granger, and I'm so sorry," he told her hastily, immediately confirming her suspicions about what had transpired upon his return. "The portkey… it's gone, or I would have come back for you. But I'm trying to get you home," he offered, and she stifled a little groan of skepticism. He really wasn't as good at lying as the Draco she was here with, though she wasn't sure that was necessarily a bad thing.

"It's not like it's all that possible," she assured him. It was what she'd expected, after all, even if she wasn't excessively thrilled about it. The small, optimistic piece of her which had hoped there was still a way back was finally silenced, even if the logical parts of her brain had already ruled it out. "And you have bigger problems, I assume."

"Oh, I've got problems," Draco confirmed grimly. "We're baiting the Dark Lord right now. Leading him into the trap to, uh. To stop him."

His gaze cut away sheepishly and Hermione frowned.

"But you can't," she said bluntly. "I can't tell you why, but Harry would know. Wait, Harry," she realized, panicking, but Draco cut her off with a quick shake of his head.

"The horcruxes, right, I know," Draco said. "Potter told me. He, um—" He hesitated. "He has a different plan in mind."

"What?" Hermione asked, bewildered. "But—but Dumbledore said—"

Harry wouldn't really have defied Dumbledore's instructions. Would he?

"We're just trying to survive," Draco told her, and then frowned. "But you. Why are you here? I thought the other me went to Durmstrang."

"He does," Hermione assured him. "But we're trying to find something."

She was battling with whether to trust him. Harry had, though, hadn't he? There was no way Draco could have known about the horcruxes otherwise. And there were things Harry needed to know about, too; if Draco was the only one she could speak to from this universe, then—

"The ring," she said. "Tell Harry it has the stone. And tell him the diadem is here. Here," she said emphatically, waving a hand to reference the room they were standing in. "It's in this room somewhere—"

"The resurrection stone?" Draco asked, blinking, and then frowned. "Wait. What ring? Diadem?"

"Ravenclaw's diadem. And as for the ring, Harry will know," she assured him. "Just tell him what I said."

"But what about you?" Draco asked her, stepping forward before being blocked again by whatever multiverse rules kept them separate. "Do you have any idea what to do to come back? Should I—should I try to find a way through this room," he offered helplessly, "or, um—is there someone you want me to tell, or—"

"I—" She hesitated. Harry was about to fight Voldemort, that was obvious. She hated not being by his side while he was risking his life yet again. Still, she'd just discovered something here, hadn't she? What if the Harry and Draco of this universe defeated Grindelwald only to pave the way for Tom Riddle to take over as Voldemort somewhere else? Could she really permit the diadem being brought to him now, knowing what she knew? And if she didn't know how to break through the barrier between the universes—and if Draco didn't know, either—then what good did it really do either of them knowing they could still communicate?

It was only a clue, she thought, deflating slightly, but nothing more than that. A clue to finding her way home once she'd taken care of Tom Riddle.

"You're sure they're okay?" Hermione asked him. "Harry and Ron. They're okay?"

"As okay as I am," Draco grumbled. "I do have the Elder Wand."

"That's true," Hermione registered, and exhaled. "Hey, you don't think—"

She paused. She'd been about to suggest he try to break down the barrier between them with the wand, only the moment it had occurred to her, she found herself faltering. She couldn't leave yet, could she? Not while Tom Riddle's horcruxes spanned more universes than one. Could she really in good conscience leave another world to suffer the destruction she'd witnessed in her own?

Not yet.

Not yet.

But soon.

Somehow.

"Nevermind," she said hurriedly, swallowing hard. "Just—just get back to Harry. Keep him safe, okay? And Ron," she added, as Draco nodded solemnly. "Keep them safe, Malfoy. Don't do anything stupid. Or dangerous."

"I'm really not the one you have to worry about in that particular arena," he said unhappily, "but you have my word, Granger. I'm on their side."

She nodded, throat suddenly tight with dismay. The first time she'd wound up in this universe, she'd been taken; the second time, she'd been tricked; this time, for a variety of reasons she wasn't sure she could enumerate, she was choosing not to go.

Though, maybe it wasn't quite so simple. She was really choosing between the possibility of driving herself mad trying to get back to where she'd been and opting to stay and fight until she finished what she came for, wasn't she? Just until she had her own version of the Elder Wand, and she could very well do what she wished without either Draco Malfoys' help. But still—what did it mean, exactly, that something was compelling her to stay?

She tried not to think about that. Or about where she'd spent the late hours of last night, or with whom.

"I have to go," Hermione said neutrally, and Draco blinked.

Then he was gone, and just as suddenly, the Draco standing beside her glanced down, frowning.

"Lost you for a minute there," he noted, brow furrowed with concern. "Did you… see something? Did something happen?"

Her heart was pounding. Elsewhere, though, Remus arose from a pile of rubbish with the diadem held aloft, leaping down lightly to pad towards them with a sly, toothy grin.

"Shall we?" he prompted, gesturing to the door, and Hermione stared at the diadem in his hands, wondering if he had any idea what it contained.

"Yes," she exhaled, letting her eyes fall shut and wondering if this universe had driven her mad, or if she'd always secretly been halfway to insanity. "Yeah. Let's go."


Potterverse

For a second, Draco thought she was going to ask him to use the Elder Wand. He'd been certain of it. He'd seen the look in her eyes; caught the signs of recognition dawning. It could break through Hogwarts' wards, so why not through some barrier between transferable universes? He'd been certain she would say it, and for a moment, his stomach had contorted with dread.

Because if Hermione Granger came back, everything was going straight to hell (more to hell, which was a surprising thing to still be able to quantify). Forget Harry and Ron; that alliance would be out the window the moment they knew what he'd done. And what would happen to the version of Hermione who existed here? It was, needless to say, a highly inconvenient time for any sort of Hermione Granger revival, but there was no refusing if she asked, so his fingers had tightened around the Elder Wand, waiting.

She didn't ask. Was it possible it never occurred to her?

No, he thought, impossible. He'd seen the look on her face; knew how to read her at least that well.

Was it possible she didn't want to come back?

I have to go, she said.

Where exactly was she going?

Why the fuck did they need a diadem?

What ring?

"What are you doing?" Draco heard, and blinked, Harry's face suddenly swimming into being directly in front of his. "I said to set a trap, Malfoy," Harry panted, "not be a sitting duck—"

He was on a broomstick, Draco realized. He must have conjured one at some point. That was one way to lure someone, he supposed, though he wondered where he'd gotten it. Summoning charm? Most likely.

Wait.

Had time continued passing while he'd been somewhere… between universes?

"For fuck's sake," Harry growled, and yanked Draco by the collar of his shirt. "Now's a pretty inconvenient time to go catatonic, Malfoy," Harry remarked, dragging Draco backwards so the heels of his shoes scraped against the floor, the rest of him nearly bobbing in the air. "Nott's going to show up any second, and when he does—"

"INCOMING," Theo shouted, ducking his head to pass through the open doorway as the walls behind him were hit with what must have been a blasting charm; possibly more than one. Draco blinked once, twice, dragging himself to some wretched form of cognition, and then—

"DRACO MALFOY, HOW LONG DO YOU PLAN TO HIDE FROM ME?"

Draco raised the wand blindly, blinking through disintegrating ash and rubble; the structure of the castle behind Theo's racing form reducing to shards as he passed. Almost immediately, Draco could feel the proximity of the Dark Lord getting closer, the pain in his head searing down to the ache of his Mark as Lord Voldemort levitated himself into the room, a gruesome smile alighting on his inhuman face.

"Ah, so you do have it, then," the Dark Lord said with a mirthless laugh, and behind him, Draco was certain more were approaching. He could see the flutter of black cloaks, silver masks; as if there was any point to hiding now. As if he wouldn't know precisely who counted among them. "Well, easy enough—"

He lifted a hand—a finger, holy hell, dispatching Draco was going to be like swatting a fly, how did Harry Potter keep surviving this?—and the ground beneath Draco's feet sparked and exploded, clawing up towards him as he launched himself unsteadily onto a table, leaping from one elevated surface to another as each spot he'd been went up in a burst of flame. He turned over his shoulder, aiming something—at least one blasting charm seemed to have landed, as he caught the sound of a yelp being abruptly muffled by an impact the wand had intended on Draco's behalf—and struggling to get higher, to reach higher ground, to turn and face the Dark Lord as he stumbled, sprinted, scrambled from one place to another—somewhere between have to get out alive and holy fuck if I die like this, if I die with a spell lodged in my back, it will be because I spent my whole life running—until finally he had launched himself as high as he could get, one foot lodged in the splintered glass of an old grandfather clock.

Harry aimed a curse at Lord Voldemort from somewhere out of sight and the Dark Lord dissipated it with ease, looking impatient.

"I'll deal with you, Harry Potter, when I have what's mine," he said, and turned his slitted red eyes to Draco. "When I dispatch you, Draco Malfoy—as I should have done the first time you failed me."

Draco lifted his wand, fighting the pain and the bleariness in his eyes, and tried to conjure the words that had caught hopelessly in his throat the last time he'd been in this position.

Avada Kedavra, he thought firmly. Just say it.

Avada Kedavra. Do it to survive.

Avada Kedavra. Do it to save everyone in this room.

Avada Kedavra. Do it for her.

He opened his mouth; started to speak, and the moment he did, his vision caught on something; something swimming through the air.

He thought it was a hallucination, a glimmer from a dream, before he realized what it was.

The glinting edge of a silver knife.


a/n: For orangepine, who can follow my wild train of thought through all the universes.